Silent Screams

They weren’t expecting much of a fight from the twenty-nine year old college student and activist they had been sent to kidnap; who was mostly deaf, barely verbal, and rarely wore her hearing aids. The two men knew all this because they had been watching her for days. She was currently loading a box of supplies and handmade rally signs next to the now empty cooler in the hatchback trunk of her car.

She wasn’t as young or as skinny as the girls the boss usually went for; in fact, some people might even consider her overweight but she was attractive and curvy in all the right places. And they weren’t in the habit of asking too many questions.

A guy who had been hanging around her at the rally earlier stopped and tapped on the frame of the car until she looked up. She smiled and the two conversed in Sign Language for a few minutes, then parted ways. Her friend had just turned the corner out of sight, finally leaving her alone and she was moving to get into her car when they grabbed her. Her long, chestnut and green striped hair was caught back into a simple ponytail, making a perfect handle.

He gripped it firmly a couple inches below the scrunchie and yanked, pulling her head back at a sharp angle, effectively limiting her movement, and nearly causing her to fall backwards to the pavement.

She flailed out with her fists, managing to land a solid blow to his face. He felt both the crunch of cartilage and gush of warm, sticky wetness indicative of a broken nose. Her other fist swung downward, narrowly missing his family jewels. The blow connected instead with the muscle of his inner thigh, causing the muscle to cramp. He lost his grip on her hair, allowing her to jerk herself free.

She began to run and shout for help in her oddly accented, husky voice but within only a few steps he caught her again and threw her to the ground. Before she could crawl away, he drew his knife and struck her temple with the butt of it to knock her out. His partner arrived then with the blanket. They wrapped her up and the partner carried her to their waiting van while he followed a bit more slowly, limping heavily and working on adjusting his nose back in its proper position before it healed at too odd an angle.

~*~*~*~

Dean Winchester was not yet dressed; still in just his boxers, t-shirt, and robe. He was not awake enough to cook breakfast, however, the coffee he had handled. He shuffled into the bunker library carrying two full cups but stopped in the door arch to watch his younger brother for a few heartbeats. Sam was slumped in a chair at one of the heavy wooden tables, piles of books --lying open to the pages pertinent to his research topic-- surrounded him, his face pillowed on his arms where he had fallen victim to exhaustion while pecking away on his laptop, forgotten beer and plate of barely touched food from supper near his elbow. Dean opened his mouth to wake him with a smartass comment when a phone started to buzz. Dean grinned and stepped forward. “Mornin, Sam! Gonna answer that?”

Sam jerked awake with a huff and flailed around awkwardly until he found the phone under a stack of books and papers. “Hello?” He blinked the sleep fog from his vision and quietly cleared his throat while the person on the other end of the call responded. “This is he. How can I help you?”

Dean set the extra coffee cup in front of Sam before claiming the chair opposite him at the table.

Sam held up a finger to his brother. “Mac?! Of --Of course I remember you! I never really got to thank you and Maura for…” Cheerful surprise was quickly followed by a sad smile. “Oh. I’m sorry to hear that.” He gave a brief chuckle at the next comment. “I did for a few years. But you can never fully get outnce you’ve been in it. I didn’t stand much of a chance, Mac. I was practically born into it.” Sam frowned at Dean’s snort of derisive amusement then focused on the next comment from the other end of the conversation. He suddenly stood to his feet, nearly knocking over his chair and began to pace. “Quinn?! Of course I remember her! I took an ASL class in college because of my time with your family.”

Dean watched the parade of emotions on his brother’s face as he gathered what he could from the mostly one sided conversation. Something bad had happened and it was personal. Much as he disliked memories of the time Sam had been away for school, he was proud of him for going. And if it was personal to his brother, it was personal to him.

“What?! By whom?” Sam’s jaw clenched and Dean recognised the the murderous gleam in his younger brother's eyes just before he said simply, “I’m coming.”

“So where we goin’?” Dean asked a couple minutes later as Sam clicked off the phone and finally reached for the coffee.

Sam looked at Dean, a look of mild surprise on his face, the coffee cup halfway to his mouth. “You don't have to come. It's kind of personal and I'll hopefully only be gone a few days.”

“I'll help. Sides, there’s not much else to research. Maybe we’ll catch a lead on the next ingredient while on the road. Where we goin’?”

Sam shrugged and swallowed a swig of the coffee before answering. “Atherton, California. An old Hunter friend of Dad's took me in for a few months when I got my free ride to Stanford so I could get my paperwork ironed out. He had been forced to retire early when a bad hunt landed him in a wheelchair.”

Dean made a sympathetic noise into his coffee as he thought of their adoptive father, Bobby Singer, and his time in one as well. It hadn’t been easy on any of them.

“He had withdrawn from the community almost completely by then. His daughter, Quinnleigh --err, umm, ‘Quinn’-- was eleven at the time; six years younger than me. We got along okay but I had other things on my mind, you know.” Sam shrugged and shot his brother with a look, begging him to understand. “She was kinda like a temporary, annoying little sister or a visiting cousin.”

“Yeah. I get it.” Dean chuckled, thinking of Charlie and what she must have been like as an eleven year old. “And you said you took ASL in college, because of the kid?” Dean’s eyebrows did the thing where one went up, almost into his hairline while the other dropped. At sam’s nod, he shrugged and his expression returned to normal. “So is she deaf like Eileen?”

Sam nodded, his hair flipping into his eyes before he pushed it back with a hand. “Yeah… I mean, I was inspired to because of my time with them. I figured knowing some basics wouldn't hurt as a lawyer; what if one of my clients some day was deaf?”

“Hm. Smart. So what's up? You said ‘by whom’. Has she been kidnapped or something?” His younger brother’s shoulders rose and fell as he sighed.

“She's been taken by a vamp that's got a vendetta against her dad. He doesn't think she's been turned --yet-- and doesn't want to bring the regular cops into it, so he reached out to the community and was redirected to me.”

Dean nodded then drained his cup and got to his feet. “Okay. Let's go!”

“Ummm, Dean?”

“Yeah?”

Sam was trying not to laugh. “Pants?”

He shot his younger brother a sheepish look that he then tried to turn back around to something snarky. “Yeah…. Well, you need to shower and change!”

~*~*~*~

“So they looked after you till you got your school legs, huh?” The brothers were getting out of Baby, in front of a decent sized one story house with peeling paint and a neglected yard.

“Yeah. I used to tutor Quinn under that tree.”

Dean looked to where Sam had indicated. An old, twisted tree shaded one corner of the house and yard. A dry rotted tire swing and a rickety bench swing hung from the branches on frayed ropes.

Sam’s face twisted with worry and maybe grief. “It wasn’t that she needed the help because she was slow, her teachers were just crap. Didn’t know how or didn’t try to connect with her and help her understand. She was --IS-- so smart.”

They reached the bottom of the wheelchair ramp to the low porch and started to walk up it.

“We’ll find her, Sammy.”

“Yeah….” When they reached the top, he reached out and knocked on the door. “Carson MacAlister? It’s Sam Winchester.”

The door opened to reveal nerdy professor type of man in a manual wheelchair, a sawed off shotgun across his knees, a knife in a wrist sheath, and a flask in one hand. “Old habits die hard. You’ll forgive me for this, I hope. I heard you’ve died a few times, you see?”

“Understood.” Sam pulled up his sleeve and held out his hand.

The man splashed the contents of the flask over his palm. Once satisfied, he lightly drew the tip of the blade along the skin, just hard enough to draw a few drops of blood. When Sam didn’t sizzle or produce black goo at either test, he nodded and finally smiled in greeting as he wiped the blade on a handkerchief. ”It’s good to see you, young man! Who’s your friend?”

“Mac, this is my brother.”

“Dean?”

“Yes, Sir.” He had pulled up his own sleeve before offering his hand. At the man’s hesitation, probably warring between instinct and politeness, he gave a single nod of permission.

The man returned it as a thank you before repeating the tests on Dean, again offering a warm smile when nothing sizzled or oozed black. He wiped the blade a second time before testing himself for their benefit. He then rolled himself back out of the doorway and invited them in. “Coffee is hot and fresh. Help yourself,” he said, wheeling himself into the kitchen.

The brothers followed him and Dean had to suppress a chuckle as he watched his six-foot-four-inch younger brother prep three cups of coffee in a kitchen modified to be accessible to Mr. MacAlister’s limited reach, making it look like Sam was fumbling around in a playhouse.

“Though the circumstances are to be desired, I’m glad to have met you, Dean; and to find that Sam’s reconciled with his family.” He gestured to the empty chairs at the kitchen table, while he wheeled himself up to the side that had none.

Dean settled into a chair, offering an awkward grin while deciding how best to respond. “Yes, Sir. And I appreciate someone looking after ‘Gandalf’ here, during that time.”

Sam shot his brother an annoyed look as he set down the mugs before folding himself in half to sit in the chair closest to his brother. “So, Mac. You said you knew who took Quinn?”

“Yes. A vamp who runs both sex and blood rings.”

Dean felt a familiar flair of rage but forced himself to take a sip instead of reacting. Sam looked like he was barely holding it together. One of them had to be level headed going into this.

“The accident that gave me my wheels,” he gestured downward, “Years ago. I caught wind of a nest a couple towns over. Quinn had been born then so I was taking jobs closer to home. Less time on the road, more time with my family type stuff. Plus we were still trying to figure out how to handle her deafness. In the eighties there wasn’t as much support as there is now.”

Sam frowned. “Yeah.”

The two men exchanged looks of understanding before Mac continued. “Anyway. It was a big one and I needed help so I called in some other Hunters. I was hurt early in the fight and it was the end of my hunting days. The others swore that the nest had been completely cleared. I kept an eye out for a few years, just in case. Never heard or saw any sign of them so I started being everyone’s home office cover calls and would relay jobs I found, even did some research for various Hunters.” He shrugged. “But eventually the calls stopped coming in and my messages went unreturned. Figured everyone I had known was dead. A few years ago, a new kid named Garth came on the scene and I helped him a couple of times. He’s how I found you, by the way.”

The brothers exchanged grins.

“Was this vamp part of that old nest?” Dean tried to get out of nostalgia-land.

Mac nodded. “Yes, but I didn’t realize it at first. I’ve been watching him for a couple years now. He goes by the name Anton Giovanni Hess. He presents himself as a pimp, but I found an obscure link to a monster blood ring as well.”

“So what? He kidnaps girls to rent, then once they’re worn out, he drains ‘em into plastic bags and sells ‘em?”

“Yes. He also sells parts for other types of monsters. He must have caught on to my investigation, realized who I was, and set out to get revenge.”

“By taking Quinn.” Sam’s hands were under the table to hide how tightly he was clenching them.

“Yes.” Mac pulled out his phone and opened a video file. “Every night I get a new video, showing me what they did to her that day. I’ve analyzed them and they’re legit. They’re always in the same place, but I can tell by other things in the videos that they aren’t just pieces from the same few days. They haven’t turned her yet. Taking their time and having their fun with her.”

Neither brother could stand watching more than a few seconds of the video.

“How long have they had her, Mac?” Dean asked as Sam set the phone face down on the table with deliberate precision.

“Almost a week…” The older man’s voice cracked.

“We’ll need all of these and any of your notes from your investigations.” Sam’s voice changed when he spoke.

Dean started and scrutinised him.

Oblivious to his brother’s concern, Sam continued, “I’ll go out and get my computer, see if I can pull anything useful from the videos.”

Mac nodded. “Dean, all my notes from the last two years are in the file box on my desk.” He pointed to his office door.

~*~*~*~

“Got anything?” Dean looked up from where he’d been combing through Mac’s meticulous notes to check on his brother.

Sam had been pecking away at his computer for several hours, analyzing everything about the videos. He didn’t look up from his work. “Not really, except I don’t think they’re holding her with the rest of the girls. The only background noise I’ve been able to isolate is voices having business type conversations.”

“Nothing useful in the shoptalk, then?”

Sam shook his head. “I’ve also got some boat horns, so I’m pretty sure they’re set up in an abandoned warehouse on the bay.”

“Or the coast, or on one of the little islands in the bay…” Dean spread his arms wide and let some of his frustration show for the first time on this case. “Sorry, Sammy, but we’re in the Bay Area. That’s a lot of commercial warehouse waterfront property to check out.”

“I know that, Dean! But it’s a start!” He scrubbed at his face with his hands before raking them back through his hair. “For all we know, they’re in another country! But we have to start somewhere...”

Dean frowned at the exaggerated slump in his younger brother’s shoulders. “You’re right. I’m just saying that we need more to work with before we rush out to save the girl.”

“Yeah…”

“You haven’t been sleeping well and didn’t even catch any z’s on the way here. Why don’t you try to take a nap. I’ll go get food.”

Sam turned stubbornly back to his computer. “Can’t sleep, but food is good.”

“Okay.” Dean grabbed his jacket off the back of the chair.

“Pizza is on the way.” Mac rolled into the kitchen. “Beer is in the fridge.” At their surprised expressions he chuckled and smiled. “I drag you boys out here to help me, the least I can do is put you boys up and feed you.”

Dean replaced his jacket before grabbing three bottles of beer and popping the tops. He set one in front of each of the other men before settling back into his seat. “So according to your notes, Quinn was grabbed pretty publicly. No one saw anything?”

Mac shook his head. “No. I managed to talk to her interpreter, Margerie, but I don’t Sign enough to talk to most of her friends. She talked to them for me. The best we can figure is that Quinn was last seen around seven last Saturday evening, leaving an on campus rally. She was supposed to come home after.”

Sam’s made a small, amused snort. “Let me guess. Deaf rights?” He took a swig from his beer.

“No, actually.” Mac smiled into his bottle, obviously proud of the woman his daughter had become. He took a short drink before continuing. “It was an ‘Accessibility Rally’ to draw attention to simple, inexpensive things the school --and people in general-- could do to make the campus more accessible for more people, not just Deaf and Hard of Hearing.”

Dean nodded toward an unopened letter on the table. “She got into Santa Clara University? Isn’t that kind of a big deal?” A sound like a cross between a laugh and a sob made him look up at his brother.

“Yes,” Mac was saying, but Sam interrupted, his voice husky.

“Her dream school. Even when she was eleven. Wanted to major in both computers and history.”

Mac smiled. “Well, she was satisfied with a minor in computers. She finished that first, then took a few years off to work with otters across the bay at the preserve. Here.” He handed Sam the picture album that had been on his knees. Dean slid his chair around to catch a glimpse of the kid sister he’d never met.

The album was open, starting with Quinn’s high school graduation. Straight, chestnut brown hair that was striped with dark green and teal framed whiskey colored eyes in a grinning, heart shaped face. She had worn a dark blue, sleeveless dress, embroidered with brightly colored flowers to dinner after her commencement.

“That her mom?” Dean indicated a woman with blue eyes; hair in a lighter shade than Quinn’s, the soft ringlets at her temples closely cropped; and the same heart shaped face, smiling in the pictures with the girl.

“Yes.” Mac’s smile didn’t quite reach his eyes. “Maura passed away just before Quinn finished her computer minor.”

Quinn apparently loved to hike and camp because there were lots of pictures with various other fresh faces doing both, exploring and swimming, and playing in a drum circle with a large, flat, hand-held drum like a tambourine, minus the jingles.

Mac must have seen Dean’s confusion. “She used to play by feel and only in group settings like that,” he clarified. “When her hearing got worse a couple years ago after a bad illness, she stopped completely.”

“Wow!”

The pictures went back into school days and holidays. Then Quinn was in khakis, surrounded by and caring for various birds and animals, but mostly otters. “She took a break after Maura. Got a job at the Preserve across the bay. The otters were her favorites. Really helped her to heal. Did it for five years. She seemed happy and I thought she’d stay there. But she and another caregiver stumbled on some artifacts one day.” He tapped the pictures of the finds. “It rekindled her love of history and anthropology so she finally went back to finish her dream.” He chuckled. “She had a couple of boyfriends off and on through those years, but animals, activism, and school were her only true lovers.”

There was a knock at the door and Mac left to answer it, expecting the pizza.

“Some kid!” Dean muttered.

Sam flipped the pages back until he found some that were probably taken from the porch; of him sitting with her on the bench swing, books on their laps. “Yeah…”

There were more pictures of his few short months as part of the family; flag football and boosting Quinn onto the monkey bars in the park. A day at the pool. The two of them doing homework at this very table. Rollerblading and skateboarding, riding scooters and bikes. Quinn, wearing a pink, lacy dress and twirling in a sunny, green, flowery front yard. Sam giving her a piggyback ride during a hike. The temporary family saying goodbye the day they dropped him off at Stanford. The pictures went back to being mostly Quinn, but there were a few holiday pictures with him in them. Then Quinn’s hair started changing colors and styles every couple of pages and her clothes started losing more and more of the cute little girl look until she apparently found herself as a punk, retro, flowery, skater girl, hippy.

At some point, Mac had set the pizza boxes and three plates on the table.

Sam blinked back tears and cleared his throat. “Yeah. She is. And I’m gonna get her back.”

“We will, Sam.” Dean corrected.

~*~*~*~

“Sam’s greatly changed.”

Dean hadn’t heard the older man roll up behind him as he studied a picture in the hall. Not a photo like in the rest of the frames, this was a mixed-media collage piece of art about being Deaf. He started out of his study of it to look at Mac. “Yeah. He is. We’ve both been to hell and back.” He shoved his hands awkwardly into his pants pockets. “Same heart, though.” A grin played at one corner of his mouth for a moment. “Just a little less marshmallowy.” All seriousness returned and he met the older man’s gaze. “We’ll do our best to get her back and shut this bloodsucker down for good.”

Mac nodded. “I feel like Sam thinks saving Quinn is a redemption quest for him.”

Dean looked down at the scuffed toes of his boots. “You’re probably right.” He tilted his head toward the ceiling, but he wasn’t seeing it. “He tends to think shit’s his fault.” He shook his head and re-focussed on the man in the wheelchair beside him. “I gotta be honest here, Mac. I avoid talking about his time here --away from me and Dad-- but his face when you first called... I…” Another picture caught his eye, a collage from his brother’s first day at Stanford. The one in the center was of Sam wearing the biggest, goofiest grin on his face. Another showed him laughing in a way he hadn’t in a long time. “I miss that side of him too… But you don’t see and feel the things we have without losing a piece of yourself.”

Mac nodded. “Indeed. Such is the fate of a Hunter.”

Their moment of camaraderie was broken by a triumphant whoop from the kitchen.

Without thinking, Dean reached for the handles on the chair. Mac didn’t stop him and Dean wheeled him into the kitchen like he used to do for Bobby.

Sam barely acknowledged them before launching into an excited monologue. “Okay, so check this out! This window. One of the things that makes it clear that they are recording on different days is that this blanket isn't always hanging the exact same way and one day it wasn’t even the same one.”

“Okay.” Dean parked Mac on one side of his younger brother before stepping around him and leaning over the table on his other. “And that helps us how?”

“Because… Of the view.” Sam shot his brother a smug look. “I’ve composited every available shot of what’s out that window.”

“You’ve narrowed the search area.” Mac nodded, looking impressed.

“Between that and using the video time stamps and boat horns I picked up in the background, then comparing them with shipping schedules, I’ve managed to get it down to about a two mile stretch of waterfront real estate.”

“Awesome. Can we narrow it any more and get some video recon?”

Sam frowned. “No. Problem is I need more criteria to look for and it’s just not there.”

“What about more sound isolations?” The brothers looked at Mac with twin expressions of confusion. The older man smiled. “You said you could also hear business conversations in the background, like on the phone?”

“Yeah?”

“Overhear any addresses or phone numbers?”

“No.” Sam frowned. “I tried that earlier.”

Dean snapped his fingers as a thought struck him. “Check for power spikes in supposedly empty warehouses. It’s gotta take a lot of juice to run that kind of operation, right?”

“Hmmm…” Sam made a face as he thought it through, then began tapping away again. “It’s possible.... Take me some time, though.”

~*~*~*~

Sam stirred awake to the smell of coffee and the rattle of pans and dishes. He had crashed on the couch what felt like mere minutes ago, but a glance at his watch told him it had been five hours. He sat up and scrubbed at his face with his hands before smoothing back his sleep tousled hair.

“Morning, Sam.”

“Morning. Been sitting there long, Mac?”

“About ten minutes.” The older man shrugged as if to say, ‘so sue me’. “Thinking about how much you’ve changed.”

“Heh! No kidding.” Sam massaged the bridge of his nose. “Life does that. A Hunter’s life, especially.”

Mac shook his head slowly. “Don’t think it’s just the life. Something fundamental to yourself has been reshaped. That only happens when a soul experiences great trauma, Sam.”

The cold chuckle that escaped him, startled even himself. “You could say that I have had a century plus of that, Mac. I’m no longer that naive kid that you helped get into school.”

“I won’t push you, but I get the feeling that your brother doesn’t like to talk about things that hurt, so if you need to, I’m available.”

“Thanks, Mac.” Sam smiled. “Maybe after we get Quinn back to you.” He stood and like Dean had the evening before, without thought, reached for the chair handles to push Mac toward the kitchen along with him.

Dean had put together a decent breakfast for being in a strange miniature kitchen and the three men set to devouring it as they discussed the plans for the day of investigating.

“Before I crashed last night, I got it narrowed down to three warehouses so I figure we poke around and see what we can find out then plan our next moves from there.”

“Yup.” Dean smirked at the thought of beheading vamps. “Hopefully we’ll have Quinn back to you by tomorrow.”

“That’s something else,” Mac set his fork down and met each of their gazes. “Much as I appreciate you two doing this, I realistically understand that though you might get her back physically, Quinn will very likely never be the same.” His fist on the table clenched in frustration and helplessness. “What those bloodsuckers have been doing to her… She will not come back the same person. And will likely need support I’m incapable of giving her. If you know somewhere she could go --until she’s ready-- should there be a need, I’d be forever grateful.”

The brothers exchanged looks.

“Maybe Jody?” Dean suggested.

Sam nodded. “Or Donna? Jody already has three girls in the house. Female Hunters we know,” he clarified for Mac’s benefit. “We’ll call them and see if they can help out if needed.”

“Thank you.” Mac refused to let the brothers help clean up and they left to check the properties Sam had found the night before.

~*~*~*~

A simple drive-by told them the first location was a bust. The second was also. The brothers were figuratively crossing their fingers and toes as they approached the final possibility.

“Thanks, Jody. We appreciate you.” Sam disconnected with a sigh.

“What’s the word?”

“Both Donna and Jody said they could put her up if she needs to recover in a new place with women instead of men. Donna, Jody, and Alex all have a very rudimentary basic grasp of ASL. Patience said she was willing to learn or carry a notebook. And Claire promised to be nice to her.”

“Good. Here we go.” Dean drove past the warehouse at a speed he hoped would not alarm anyone who might be watching, but slow enough for them to be able to get a good look around.

“Guards. That’s promising.” Sam checked his gun before tucking it back into his pants.

“Yup.” Dean drove on and parked a block away. “Guards look human to you?” As soon as he closed the door behind himself, he also pulled his pistol from his belt and checked it before tucking it back.

“Considering they were standing in full sun? Yeah.”

Dean opened the trunk and the weapons compartment. “Okay. So we've got plenty of daylight.” He checked his machete before belting it on. “I say, if we see a chance to save Quinn during recon, we take it.” He tucked an angel blade inside his jacket.

“Agreed.” Sam had belted on his own machete, as well as the demon knife. He was reaching for the box with the syringes of dead man’s blood when he saw his brother reach for the grenade launcher. “Dean…”

“I won’t use it unless we have Quinn!”

“Almost killing yourself in the bunker with it wasn’t enough for you?”

His brother shot him a mischievous grin. “We were dying anyway that time. It was a calculated risk. And your idea!”

Sam tried to suppress a laugh that came out like a snort. “Fine.” He grabbed two spare clips each for their pistols, loaded his pockets with silver buckshot shells, and snatched the sawed off shotgun.

Dean’s green eyes sparkled as he rested the grenade launcher one handed against his shoulder with a cocky chuckle like a character in a science fiction movie. He reached up with his free hand and closed the trunk.

“Here.” Sam handed over Dean’s spare clips and a syringe of dead man’s blood before stashing his own in his jacket inside pocket.

They moved together toward the warehouse they hoped was a vampire nest, avoiding the human patrols until they found a window covered on the inside by a blanket --the same one from last night’s video to Mac. They listened carefully until they heard the sounds of torture and muffled screams. They gave each other a curt nod of confirmation.

Sam gestured to the window. “Boost me,” he whispered.

“No, Sam! No!” Dean whispered back with a firm, negative shake of his head. “We go in together!”

Sam reluctantly followed his brother back to the last exterior door they had seen. They made quick, quiet work of the guards and were inside within minutes, where they worked their way through several sections of the warehouse, meeting no further resistance. They were about to enter the last section.

“Sammy?”

“Yeah?”

“That seem a little too easy to you?”

“Sure did, Dean.” Sam glanced toward his brother in time to see a shadowy form materialise behind him. “Whoa! Look out!”

Boards swung towards their heads before they could react and both brothers fell to the floor, unconscious.

~*~*~*~

When Sam came to, he found his wrists were restrained behind his back, he was being dragged between two people by his shoulders, and had hood over his head. He started struggling in a panic. “Dean? Dean!” One of his captors struck him across the face and hissed for him to shut up. He decided to comply for the moment. He was settled into a chair and bound to it securely. He struggled at the ropes until he was cuffed on one ear, causing a buzzing in his head. He had no idea how long he waited, but he sat still, saving his strength until the hood was removed.

Several feet away and directly in front of him, Dean was similarly bound to a chair, the loll of his head indicating that he was just starting to come around. “Sammy?” His voice cracked and he cleared his throat before trying again. “Sam?”

“Heh. Yeah. Here.”

“You okay?”

Sam tested his bonds again. “Head feels like a bee hive, but otherwise I think so. You?”

“Same. Not going anywhere for the moment though.”

“Oh, you two won’t be going anywhere except to the bottom of the bay.” The vamp from Mac’s notes stepped out of the shadows with a feral grin. “I suspected MacAlister would bring in Hunters to try to take me down, but the Winchesters…?” He put on an air of mock wonderment. “Wow! I had no idea I rated so high on the list.” The laugh that escaped his chest was blood chilling. “Then again, the Hunters are nearly extinct. Not many others he could call on, are there?”

Dean continued to feign disorientation, but was checking out their options. There weren’t many.

Sam’s jaw clenched and he jerked at his bonds again. “Where’s Quinn?”

“Who?” Anton asked tauntingly. “Oh yeah. MacAlister’s little girl...” He gestured into the shadows and another vamp lead her forward.

She was dressed in a short sundress that barely covered her important bits and flaunted the many bruises, welts, and abrasions that covered her body. She stumbled along behind her captor on bloodied bare feet, whimpering through her gag as tears made tracks in the dirt and blood on her cheeks under the blindfold.

Dean tensed in his bindings but otherwise sat stone still, trying to get a reading on his enemy. Seeing any innocent being hurt would drive the older Winchester to blood, but this --this made his blood boil. He had seen the videos sent to her father. This wasn’t normal hostage taking; it was rape and torture. His jaw set and his green eyes almost glowed with a murderous glint.

At the sight of Quinn, something broke in Sam’s chest and he growled like a caged animal as he continued to pull at his ropes. He knew how she felt about not being able to see. Because of her deafness, taking away her sight would be living one of her worst nightmares.

Another chair was brought and she was shoved down onto it. Her bound wrists were pulled straight up over her head, bent at the elbows, and then downward behind her head to be secured to the back of the chair.

While grinning evilly at Sam, the vampire crouched next to her, a length of rope in his hand. As he caressed her thigh she began to thrash and sob, shaking her head violently. When his hand reached her knee, he gripped it tightly and forced her leg into position to tie it to the chair leg. He seemed to be enjoying both Sam’s and Quinn’s reactions as he quickly finished securing her leg and moved to her other side to repeat the process. This time he touched her much higher up and more to the inside of her thigh then laughed at her muffled screams. Once she was bound to the chair, he continued to play with her, sometimes caressing but also randomly scratching, slapping, or pinching instead.

When a backhanded blow knocked her chair over Sam’s vision turned red. He began to thrash and managed to flip his own chair onto the floor, hoping to break free. It didn’t work. The vampires righted him and held him steady by the shoulders as their sire strode toward him.

“So, your brother doesn’t know our ‘little miss’ personally, but you do.” He smirked and grabbed Sam’s chin to force him to hold his gaze. “And you care about her.”

Fear knifed through Sam’s stomach. He stopped struggling, his mind racing to figure out the best way to make the bloodsucker stop hurting Quinn. “Yeah.” He tried to laugh, still struggling to bring his breathing back under control. “Like your dad’s friend’s annoying kid you have to be nice to every time they visit. She probably doesn’t even remember me.”

“Hmm….” The vampire stood to his full height and looked back and forth between his victims. “Let’s see if she does.” He strode over to her and lightly stroked her cheek with one finger. She screamed and shook her head until he grasped her chin with one hand to hold her head still, then slid one finger of his other hand under the edge of the blindfold and popped it over her head with a flourish.

She blinked her whiskey colored eyes against the brightness of the harsh artificial lights and cringed at his touch until she spotted Dean, and then Sam; still being held in place by the two vamps. Her eyes widened with recognition.

“So she does remember you, Sam,” The boss vamp snickered, moving back toward the younger Winchester brother. “Between us, I would venture a guess she has a crush on you.”

He couldn’t help it. Sam twitched. He knew she had as a kid. For some reason, it made him feel all the more guilty.

Dean frowned. “Yeah. Well, we were more interested in ganking twilight douchebags like you than playing tea party. And that's what I’m gonna do if you put your damned, nasty claws on her again, when your beef’s with her dad.”

~*~*~*~

With the sire’s full attention on the brothers and her eyes uncovered, Quinn started stealing glances around the room. She spotted a pile of weapons to one side that she assumed they’d brought with them to rescue her. When she shifted slightly to get a glimpse at another part of the room, the rope from her wrists to the back of the chair caught. She tried to subtly wiggle it loose and thought she felt the vibrations of the rope fraying against something. She prayed she was right as she worked the rope back and forth across the rough part of the chair.

Anton leaned forward slightly, meeting Dean’s gaze. “I think you misunderstand me, Hunter. I learned long ago, that the best way to hurt someone is to hurt what they love. For instance. To make you suffer, I would hurt your brother.”

“Fine. You try that, Count Chocula.”

He roughly patted Dean’s face. “Lucky for me, that deaf and dumb, technicolor haired blood bag over there is key to everything. Hurting her hurts her father and your brother. And so by extension, you. Three birds. One pretty. Little. Stone.”

The older Winchester made a derisive snort. “I’ve ganked some scary shit before, but you…?” He clicked his tongue. “Dumb and cowardly.”

The vampire’s external calm finally started to crack. Rage flashed in his eyes as a hiss escaped through his bared fangs. “How do you figure?”

Dean rolled his eyes. “Because you are.”

Anton growled. “Your insult game leaves much to be desired. I was led to expect better from you.”

He smirked. “Maybe I don’t think you’re worth the effort.”

“Dean…..”

“Come on, Sam! Can’t you see I’m a little busy here?”

Sam quirked an eyebrow, but was backhanded by Anton before he could retort.

Dean made a show of testing his bonds, his green eyes flashing murder. “Is that all you got? Just proved my point. Why insist we banter if you’re no good at it?”

“I always wondered how true the stories were….” His calm venire was back in place. “Grannie monsters putting little monsters to bed with warnings to behave or Hunters would find them. ‘And the scariest of all are the Winchesters...’ The same Winchesters who are always brought low in the presence of a pretty girl.” His mouth twisted into a sinister smile.

Dean was trying hard not to look at Quinn, her bruised face set with determination as she worked away at her ropes. It looked like she might be almost free. He had to buy her more time. “Hey, Sam! Don’t you hate it when they start monologuing?”

“What?!” Anton snarled.

“What?!” Sam’s eyes were wide, staring at his brother.

The vamp’s extended claws raked across Dean’s chest soliciting a hiss of pain from the elder Winchester, whothen looked back up into the red rimmed eyes. His voice took on a more sinister tone and the cold gleam in his eyes should have given the vamp pause. “Yeah, douchebag! We both know how this goes. You wale on us, talk us nearly to death, but it still ends with your whole nest, bloody and smoking in my rearview.”

The sire’s face twisted with rage and he turned to slash at Sam, only to narrowly miss the blade of a machete as the younger brother was struggling awkwardly out of the last of his bindings, doing what looked like a spider web dance.

One of the underling vampires was dead, Quinn kneeling onhis back and hacking at his neckwith the other machete. She wasn’t strong enough to decapitate him in one swing --especially with her hands still bound-- but each blow showed obvious progress.

The sire shrieked and lunged for Sam, claws and fangs extended.

He caught all the sharps on the back edge of the blade and struggled against the monster until it shrieked again and crumpled against him. He looked down over the vamp’s head and his shoulders flexed as he gasped then let all the air out of his lungs in one huff.

Dean had flung the angel blade into Anton’s heart from behind and was now hacking at his ankle bindings with the demon knife. “Where’s the other one?”

Behind Dean, Quinn was holding onto the back of his chair to keep from falling over. She was kneeling, covered in gore, and shaking uncontrollably.

Sam shook his head. “Ran for backup?” He knelt next to Quinn and gently removed the gag before pulling up the hem of his flannel shirt to clean the vamp blood from her face. He was unting her wrists when Dean crouched next to him.

“She get any in her?” he asked, holding out a blanket he had found.

“Don’t think so…The gag saved her.” Sam took the blanket from his brother and started to wrap it around the young woman.

“I’ll get a vial from her, in case.”

Sam lifted her easily into his arms while Dean collected the blood and weapons.

“Wait. Here.” Dean started tucking weapons into Sam’s pockets, along with the blood vial. “No matter what, get her out.

Quinn had wiggled one hand loose from the blanket and was gripping Sam’s shirt collar. Dean grabbed it and pressed both an angel blade and the keys to the Impala into it. He looked into her eyes and spoke evenly. “You hold these.” When she nodded, he let go.

Quinn held the keys and weapon against her chest and curled herself around them as much as she could without causing Sam to drop her.

“Dean…?”

He ignored his brother’s concern. “Let’s roll!”

They were nearly to the exit when the remaining members of the nest caught up with them.

“Go! Go!” Dean shoved his brother toward the door before planting himself in the middle of the room, gun drawn and trained on the door the vamps would be coming through.

Quinn transferred the weapon and keys to her other hand, still holding them against her body, then used her now free hand to slap Sam’s chest until he looked down at her. She pointed up.

He craned his neck to see what she saw, then grinned. “Hey, Dean!” When his brother spared him a glance, he nodded toward the skylights that had been painted over to keep out the sunlight. “Shoot out the windows!”

Dean nodded and adjusted his aim. The glass shattered on the fifth shot, raining shards down on the first vamps to emerge. They shrieked when the sunlight touched their skin and dove back into the doorway, smoking and bleeding. He shot a grin in his brother’s direction that turned quizzical when Quinn made an exploding gesture with her free hand. “What?”

Sam rolled his eyes. “The grenade launcher!”

Dean nodded again. “Go!”

Holding Quinn close against his chest, Sam ran for the door. He made it about five steps away from the warehouse before he heard the boom. Knowing what was coming, he skidded to a stop and crouched against the pressure wave. When it had passed, he didn’t wait to find out if he would be pursued, just ran for the car as fast as he could manage with his burden. He reached it and crouched against the sun warmed metal to catch his breath.

He pulled back the blanket from Quinn’s face. Her gaze was glassy, but she was aware enough to give him a weak smile and open the fist that had clutched the keys. His own hands were shaking as he bundled her into the back seat and got behind the wheel.

*~*~*

Dean was trudging toward where they’d parked the car when Sam pulled up to him. He threw the weapons into the trunk then climbed wearily into the driver’s seat that Sam had vacated.

The younger Winchester pulled out his phone as he settled into the passenger seat. “Mac, it’s Sam. We’ve got her. We’re heading to the hospital now-- No, yeah. We can do that.” He turned to his brother. “Mac wants us to bring her home. He’s got someone coming to look her over. Doesn’t want normal cops getting into it.”

“Yeah, okay…” Dean tilted the rearview mirror til he could see Quinn’s still, blanket shrouded form sprawled across the back seat. “How’s she looking, really?”

“Um…” Sam turned in his seat to look at her, his face a mask of worry. “I don’t think she has any serious injuries. Can’t tell if the weakness is from lack of food, blood loss, shock, or a combination. And I have no way of telling what’s happening in her head… I... I’m--”

Quinn interrupted him with a croaking sound that vaguely resembled his name and three weak pats on his seat back.

He shifted to face her as much as possible and signed as many of his words as he could, starting with her Sign Name; a ‘Q’ hand shape that swept back along the temple and into the hair. “Quinn! You O.K?”

She ignored his question and mimed writing on her open palm.

After a few minutes of fumbled searching, he handed her a pen and one of the small notebooks he carried when he was playing FBI.

She scribbled a message and handed it back to him.

“The girls are here?!” He showed the address and message to Dean when she nodded.

She patted the seat again until she had regained his attention. She was growing tired. She knew she wouldn’t be able to keep her hands up much longer. She also knew Sam was nowhere near fluent. She kept her ASL as simple as she could. “Kidnapper not know I awake. See him leave two girls there.”

Sam relayed what she said to his brother.

“Hm. Good work.” Dean nodded and gave her a thumbs up in the rearview mirror when he caught her eye.

She gave him a weak smile in return.

“What about the body hackers?”

Sam tried to sign Dean’s question but finally gave up, flipped to a fresh page, and wrote it.

Quinn shook her head and shrugged in answer.

“It’s okay.” Dean said to her eyes in the mirror. “It’s okay. That’s one I’m willing to let the regular cops handle while we get her home,” he added, glancing at his brother.

Sam nodded. “You see a pay phone, stop and I’ll call it in anonymously.” A couple blocks later, Sam jogged toward one, trying to avoid looking at any cameras. Once he’d picked up the receiver and dropped the coins, he waited impatiently for the connection.

“911, what’s your emergency?”

“Yeah, I think my neighbor’s into something illegal.” Sam faked an accent and tried to speak in a higher pitch than normal, to disguise his voice. “There’s girls in and out at all hours; I see packages go out like for shipment, andlots of garbage bags and what looks like bodies going in.”

“What’s the address, Sir?”

He rattled off the address from the piece of paper in his hand. The dispatcher repeated it to confirm. It was correct, so he hung up before any more questions could be asked and hurried back to the car.

Dean was nowhere to be seen and the back passenger door was open. Quinn was sitting half out, losing the meager contents of her stomach. With a grim expression, Sam held her hair back and supported her until she finished.

A few seconds later, Dean returned, holding out a bottle of water he’d just opened and had a plastic grocery sack from the mom and pop grocery store across the street hanging off his wrist.

She was trembling too much to hold onto anything, so Sam helped her sip enough to swish and spit a few times before finally swallowing some. She looked up at Dean with a question in her eyes.

He nodded and held out the bag.

She made a motion, similar to blowing a kiss. 'Thank you,'

Sam took the grocery sack since she couldn’t “What’s this?” he asked before looking inside.

In answer, his brother flipped open the notebook. Two sets of handwriting formed a conversation on the page.

--Going to be sick. Water?--

-I’ll get some-

--Crackers and grape sport drink too, please?--

-You got it kiddo-

“Now let’s get rollin’.”

Sam got in the back with Quinn. He helped her eat a couple crackers and sip at the drinks until he thought she’d fallen asleep against his chest. When they pulled up in front of her father’s house, he was grateful she had kept it all down.

Dean helped them get out of the car but let Sam pick her up to carry her inside where the interpreter and a female EMT who was a friend of the family directed him to the master bathroom. He gingerly set her on the closed toilet lid, then backed slowly out of their way as they began to tend to her. He couldn’t bring himself to leave, though. The younger Winchesterstood frozen in the hallway even after the door had been closed. He jumped when Dean patted his shoulder.

“Come on. Come sit. Not the puppy dog eyes, bro!” Dean steered his brother towards the kitchen where Mac was sitting at the table, a full cup of coffee forgotten and now cold between his hands. “Dude. They’ve got this.” He shoved his younger brother down into a chair. “Hey Mac! You got anything stronger than beer? Think we could all use it.”

The old Hunter pointed to a china hutch where a mostly full bottle of Jack sat at the end of a neat row of glasses, sparkling in the sun.

Dean poured three liberal portions and brought them to the table. “Mac, you should be proud of your girl. She saved our asses today.”

Mac nodded but his smile didn’t reach his eyes. “I taught her monsters were real. I forgot to teach her they don’t always look like monsters at first.”

Sam nodded. “Sometimes even we forget that.”

Dean raised his glass in saute. “To Quinn! May I never get on her bad side!”

“To Quinn…” Sam whispered.

“Sla’inte, Quinn!”

The brothers began to relay the day’s events and eventually took turns getting themselves cleaned up while Mac made food for everyone. A couple hours later, the EMT came into the kitchen, hauling her kit.

“Okay, guys. She’s in bed. Been cleaned and bandaged up. Probably won’t be on her feet much for a couple weeks but I expect her to be healing fine by then. I’m pretty sure there’s no concussion and the shock is starting to wear off. She’ll probably sleep a lot over the next couple of days. She needs it, but try to not let her sleep for too long at a stretch just in case I was mistaken about the concussion. Since she can’t really walk till her feet heal, she’ll need help getting to the bathroom. Any food or pain meds she wants will need to be brought to her also, so my suggestion is to have someone sitting with her most of the time, unless you have a bell or something; you know, since she doesn’t voice. Keep her hydrated and avoid most solid foods for a couple days. Think of it in terms of her coming off a bad stomach flu.”

“Thanks, Wyla.” Mac smiled.

She set down her kit and hugged him. “Margerie can’t stay long and I’m heading out. Got to shower and restock the kit before shift, but if you need anything, text me. I’ll get back to you as quickly as I can, okay?”

When she felt him nod against her shoulder, she patted his back and stood up to meet his gaze. “She’s tough. None of the wounds were critical. She’s gonna pull through.” She looked at the brothers. “She’s asking for Sam and asked me to give this to ‘Dean’.” She held out a folded full size piece of notebook paper.

Sam’s face ran a gambit of emotions as he stumbled over his own feet, trying to get up. Finally up right, he forced himself to walk as calmly as possible to her room.

Dean accepted the paper with a nod of thanks. He opened it and recognized Quinn’s handwriting. 'Thank you, Dean. Yes, I recognized you from Sam’s pictures. Thank you for coming with him to rescue a stranger. Thank you for listening to me, even when I didn’t use words. Thank you for looking me in the eye. Thank you.' He folded the note small enough to fit into his shirt pocket and stashed it there before he finished the rest of the whiskey in his glass with one gulp and sniffed hard to hide the tears.

“And she asked me to give you this.” Wyla lightly kissed Mac’s cheek before picking up her kit and showing herself out.

~*~*~*~

Sam watched the two women conversing with their hands. It was intimidating even though he knew from experience that he could get by --mostly-- with the little he had picked up between college and Eileen.

Quinn looked tired but was sitting, propped up on a mountain of pillows. Her long hair, still damp from a washing, hung loose around her shoulders. She was wearing Despicable Me minion PJ pants and a pastel blue t-shirt with words and ASL hand shapes in black that read, ‘I hear with my eyes and speak with my hands, what’s your superpower?’ She was covered in bruises and cuts --the sight of which made his heart contract-- but her eyes were bright and alert.

He cleared his throat from the doorway so as not to startle the interpreter.

She shot him a knowing smile over her shoulder before cheerfully signing, “There he is!” She gingerly hugged Quinn and smoothed back her hair from her face before her hands started moving again. 'Time go me.' She made an ‘L’ hand shape tilt out, away from the corner of her eye. “See you later.” She patted Quinn’s knee as she got up. When she passed Sam in the hall, she patted his arm and whispered, “You look after her or I’ll kill you!”

Startled and confused, he watched her walk down the hall and turn into the kitchen.

A tapping sound brought his mind back to Quinn. She was knocking on her nightstand to get his attention. 'What?' The sign looked like she was rolling marbles around in cupped palms, while shrugging and it always made him want to laugh.

'What you tell her about me?' he signed back.

She laughed and patted the bed beside her to invite him to sit. As he entered her colorful domain, he saw her pick up a pen and full size notebook. --I think this will be easier,-- she wrote. When he nodded his agreement, she continued. --I told her you were old.-- She drew a wink. --I told her that I knew you when I was a kid and that you were my first crush.-- She grinned when he started opening and closing his mouth like a fish as a rosy flush appeared around his shirt collar. --I told her that I cried when I saw on the news that you had died. Both times. I told her that Dad must have found out that you were alive and when he called, you came even though you haven’t talked to us in over 10 years. I told her that your body language and eyes said you cared about me. I told her that I haven’t felt so safe in years, as I did when you were holding me today.--

Blushing furiously, he gently took the pen and notebook. He turned the page. -Did your EMT friend give you any pain meds?-

--Yes? Why?--

-Then let’s wait to have this conversation.-

--It was Advil! I’m not high!-- She huffed in frustration.

He held up one finger to get her attention, then pointed to himself, signed ‘know’ by drawing tiny circles over his eye with his pointer finger, then ‘feel’ by rubbing his heart with a middle finger while shaking his head, his expression grim. “I don’t know how I feel.” He took back the pen and paper and started scrawling furiously. -When I got here I was still seeing you in my head as a kid. Like the little cousin or sister I’d never had. Then Mac showed us your pictures and told us what you had done with your life; how you had grown and changed. You weren’t that kid anymore but I still thought of you in the same way --like a sister or cousin. Then I saw you hurt and scared. And I was helpless to save you. It hurt me. Deeply. When I care about people, they tend to get hurt. And they usually die. Then I saw you take your chance and fight back. It made me see you as a woman. Now I don’t know how I feel or how I’m supposed to feel. You’re family to me, regardless. But you’ve been through a lot. You need to take time to heal and to make sure you still feel this way after we’ve talked more and gotten caught up. You might find I’ve changed too much. I know I’m not the same guy you had a crush on when you were eleven.- He offered her a sad smile.

'I know,' she signed, then dropped her pointer finger to point up from her lips before flipping it forward, toward him while nodding. 'You’re right.' She frowned before signing, 'See muchsorrow in your eyes.'She nodded and sighed as if she had just made up her mind on something. 'Time. New sign name.'

“Why?” His hand drew out from the side of his head, ending in the ‘Y’ shape. “I like my old one.”

She shook her head. She was determined. She pointed at him then lifted both hands, palms up, fingers bent to point straight up and dragged them down sharply at the same time,ending in ‘Y’s. 'You’re now,' she set her hand in the shape for ‘s’ over one eye and dragged it downward. When he repeated it she nodded and took back the writing implements. --Because of how sad your eyes are now. I miss your smile.--

His single laugh came out in a huff as he blinked back tears. -Why did you wait to fight back?- he wrote. -You could have escaped before.-

--Too many of them. I did try. Once. Then you and your brother were there; I had back up, so I tried again.--

He waited until she looked up to gage his reaction, then signed, 'Did good. Saved us. Thank you.'

It was her turn to blush; accompanied by a shy smile --I’m tired. Will you stay with me until I’m asleep? Wyla said I shouldn’t be alone much for a couple days.--

His fist moved like he was knocking on a door. “Yes.” He got up and moved her desk chair next to the bed.

'Thank you,' She signed and gave him a wan smile before easing herself under the quilt.

As he listened to her breathing settle into the regular rhythm of sleep, Sam’s gaze flicked around the room, taking in the different aspects of her life. There were birds of prey, otters, dragonflies, and celestial themes in most of her decorations and artwork. A good bit of the latter he recognised as hers, remembering how she could make almost any piece of trash beautiful, even as a girl. She used bright and pastel colors in ways that were uniquely her and there was no real single theme to the room, except that everything together seemed to breathe her name.

One piece in particular drew his attention because it was much darker than most of the other items around it. Beside a framed poster for the Documentary film, The Eagle Huntress, was a simple black frame in which hung a pair of black angel wings; made of real feathers with a poem painted on them in the same shade of blue as the backing they were mounted on.

One wing read,

"Take an angel by the wings

Beg her now for anything

Beg her now for one more day…"

The other said,

"Take an angel by the wings

Time to tell her everything

Ask her for the strength to stay…"

Under the wings was a white cloud with a literal sparkling silver lining and the words in black,

You can do anything" ~Sia ~